


Tattoos And Lampposts

by Liliace



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Getting Together, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 12:19:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6005593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liliace/pseuds/Liliace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair gets to know different sides of Zevran and discovers that he's not so bad after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tattoos And Lampposts

**Author's Note:**

> This was a birthday present for the lovely [Shieni](http://shienilicksonlemons.tumblr.com) and they gave me permission to post it online, so here goes.
> 
> This is told in short parts that can be taken to belong in the same universe, or they can be considered to be separate. This is my first attempt at writing these two, so I hope I got their characterization at least somewhat right!
> 
> Also, the soulmate identifying marks are the last words your soulmate says to you written on your arm.

"Gazing at stars, my friend?" Zevran asks quietly as he lays down on the ground next to Alistair.

Alistair glances at him before turning his eyes back towards the night sky. "Yeah," he answers just as quietly.

There seems to something magical about the moment. Quiet times are difficult enough to come by in their lives, what with the whole Blight thing going on, so just getting to lie down and relax is extraordinary enough on its own.

But it's not just that, really. It's the whole atmosphere; lack of loud noises, stars glittering in the sky, a gentle breeze drifting across them. It's the perfect moment for introspection, so that's how Alistair is spending it.

Or was, more like it, before Zevran plopped down next to him.

"I never understood the fascination everyone seems to have with stars," Zevran says after a while, and Alistair glances at him again.

"They're beautiful," he says simply, as if that explains it all. And really, maybe it does.

Zevran hums thoughtfully. "They are. But they always seemed more fit to fairy tales than my life, and I cannot help but begrudge them for being as unreachable as a different life."

Alistair feels like he can understand that a little bit; when he was at Templar training, he felt like the stars were mocking him, shining in the night sky and reminding him of what could have been. But even back then, he had enjoyed looking at them and dreaming of something more.

"I thought you didn't hate being an assassin," Alistair says instead of sharing his own thoughts.

"I do not," Zevran chuckles quietly. "What I didn't like was being a puppet of the Antivan Crows; being entirely in their mercy."

That Alistair can understand even better. The Templar order was really fond of mindless following, and Alistair dreads to think about what would have become of him if Duncan hadn't gotten him out before they gave him lyrium.

He doesn't mention that, though, because Zevran might not appreciate Alistair comparing his relatively nice life to that of Zevran's, which has been filled with killing and hurting.

"And yet you swore loyalty to the Warden," Alistair comments.

He's still not quite sure whether to believe that Zevran won't betray them or not, but he's willing to give the assassin the benefit of the doubt.

"Indeed," Zevran says. "But… I actually wasn't expecting her to accept my proposal," he finishes, voice lowering, and Alistair gets the feeling that something huge is lingering between them.

"What do you mean?" Alistair asks, confused.

Zevran said that like it was a secret, but truly, who would expect their ex-target to suddenly accept them into their group? It's understandable why Zevran would have expected refusal rather than agreement, but the way Zevran's eyes are glittering tells Alistair there's something more to it yet.

"Nothing, my friend Alistair," Zevran says instead of truly answering, and the tension is gone.

Alistair wonders if Zevran will one day be willing to tell him what that was about, and then startles when he realizes what direction his thoughts have taken. He never really expected to want a friendship with Zevran.

"Well," he coughs, "I'm glad she didn't kill you. You're not too bad for an ex-assassin."

Zevran grins at him, though there's something much softer in his expression than Alistair would have ever expected. "As am I. And I am still an assassin, my friend; it is a lifestyle and a skillset, not a job."

Alistair rolls his eyes and turns back to look at the stars. Somehow, they seem less complicated than the man beside him.

*****

"So, Alistair," Zevran begins, and Alistair has the sudden feeling that he's not going to like what comes next. Of course, that might just be previous experience talking there. "I heard you've never licked a lamppost in winter. I find that odd, considering how many lampposts there are here, and how long Fereldan winters are."

Alistair glances at him warily, wondering if Zevran knows that that's a metaphor, or if he's actually curious about licking lampposts. At least it's not too difficult to figure out how Zevran 'heard' about that; the assassin was probably eavesdropping on him and his friend the previous night.

"Never had the opportunity, I guess," Alistair says, still eyeing Zevran suspiciously. He hopes the others aren't listening in to their conversation.

Zevran laughs. "I'd be more than happy to provide you with one, my friend."

Alistair stumbles on the road a bit, his wariness turning to shock. "I – I'm sorry?"

"I've done it a great many times, myself," Zevran says with a mischievous grin, and Alistair realizes that Zevran definitely knows what they're talking about. "I wouldn't mind showing you how it's done."

Alistair can feel his cheeks heating up and he desperately tries to fight the blush; unsuccessfully. He turns to look determinedly ahead, hoping that Zevran won't notice how red his face is.

"Yes, I'm sure," he says hurriedly. "But I'm afraid I'll have to refuse."

"Oh well," Zevran casually states. "That's too bad. There are so many things I can do with my tongue."

Then he walks a bit faster, catching up to the others, and Alistair is left there alone in his embarrassment. His face must match the colour of a tomato by that point, and he feels something stirring in his gut that he determinedly ignores.

Maker, Zevran would one day be the death of him. It didn't help at all that the idea wasn't as horrible as he figures it should be. But Zevran was most likely joking, so there was no need to get so worked up over it anyway.

*****

"Have you changed your mind about my offer?" Zevran asks as Alistair comes to him in their camp.

Alistair can feel his cheeks burning, but he nods anyway. "The, uh, the bathing and massage really aren't necessary, are they?" he asks hesitantly.

Zevran chuckles. "Necessary? No, my friend. They simply make the process of tattooing less painful for the recipient. Think of it like foreplay."

Honestly, Alistair probably should have expected that, but he still reddens even more. "Right, okay, I don't think I'll do that. But since I want the tattoo on my calf, it's enough if you massage that part, right? And we don't have tubs here anyway."

"Hmm, I suppose you could just sink your foot into a bucket," Zevran says thoughtfully. "Very well, if that is how you prefer it."

Alistair breaths in relief. "Can we do it now?" he asks then.

Zevran nods. "You should take off your armour while I prepare the mixture."

Alistair goes back to his own tent and hurries to do exactly that as he ponders on Zevran's behaviour. He had assumed that Zevran's offer of giving him a tattoo had more to do with Zevran's desire to see Alistair naked than any altruism on his part. But perhaps the assassin had simply wanted to do something nice for him.

Whatever the reason, Alistair is thankful for it. He'd hate to go through more pain simply because of his own embarrassment, but he also knows that he wouldn't have been comfortable being completely naked while Zevran massaged him. That was a far too dangerous territory, and not one Alistair particularly wanted to explore quite yet.

It doesn't take him long to get the armour off with practiced movements, and then he goes back to Zevran's tent dressed in just the shirt and pants he wears under the armour. He can feel everyone's incredulous staring as he enters the tent, and he blushes once again.

"Very good," Zevran says upon seeing him, and looks him up and down in a way that probably would have sent Alistair's skin crawling months ago, and now only serves to heat up Alistair's cheeks even more.

"Uh, right," Alistair says, very eloquently, and sits down on the log Zevran motions him towards.

In front of it is a bucket filled with something giving of a faint, not at all unpleasant scent, and Alistair sinks his left foot in there. The mixture – rosewater and olives, Zevran had said – comes up to his knee, and Alistair is grateful that it's warm.

Then Zevran kneels in front of him and reaches for his calf, and the first touch sends shivers racing across Alistair's back. He bites back a moan of pleasure as Zevran starts the massage off slow and gentle, and realizes that Zevran wasn't at all lying about how enjoyable it was.

He's thankful that Zevran doesn't make any dirty comments about the situation or position; he doesn't think he could handle it. Already, he has to force himself to think about – other things in order to stop some very obvious bodily reactions.

It's hard – no pun intended – with Zevran on his knees before him and his touch so light yet firm. Alistair can feel his mind taking him off to directions he'd rather not go to quite yet, but he also can't help but try to memorize how Zevran looks kneeling in front of him, and the pleasurable sparks his touch sends up Alistair's spine.

Soon – too soon – it's done, and Zevran can move onto the actual tattooing process. Alistair is still very surprised that Zevran doesn't offer any comments about their position, but that's nothing new. The assassin continues to surprise him every day.

*****

Alistair had been dreading this day since the first time Zevran had called him 'my friend Alistair'. Well, actually, he had been wondering if this day would come the first time Zevran called him 'my friend', but the added 'Alistair' at the end only cemented the fact.

They had been getting along much better for the past few months, and though neither of them had made a move on the other yet – Zevran's constant flirting didn't count – Alistair couldn't help but feel like it was inevitable. Which it probably was, all things considered.

But he had enjoyed their camaradie and jokes, and especially the pranks they pulled on Morrigan together, and had tried to put the worried thoughts out of his mind. It was only during quiet moments, usually before sleep, that Alistair let his mind drift to the part of his mind that was scared – terrified – of _that_ day.

And now, _that_ day was here. Naturally, neither of them knew that beforehand. It all seemed perfectly normal, nothing unusual about it at all. Even the attack on them was routine by now, so no one thought much about fighting the battle.

But then, during a quiet moment, Alistair hears Zevran shout out to him. Naturally he turns to look at the assassin, who is grinning at him across the battlefield.

"That manoeuvre that you pulled was brilliant," Zevran calls out. "Really, it is a pleasure to fight by your side, my friend Alistair."

Alistair's blood runs cold. His eyes widen and he freezes for a moment, unable to shout out a warning as an enemy sneaks behind Zevran and goes to stab him in the neck. Alistair's terrified, in shock, the words on his skin burning, and he can only scream as he watches Zevran fall down to his knees with a surprised expression on his face.

They take quick care of the rest of the enemies, but it doesn't make Alistair feel any better.

**

"I'm sorry, Alistair," the Warden says, laying a gentle hand on Alistair's shoulder.

"I know," he murmurs, eyes on the ground.

He doesn't want anyone to see how bloodshot his eyes are, or how they are still glistening with tears. He doesn't even want anyone's reassurances.

He never thought that he'd have a happy ending, not with the Blight going on, and especially not when Duncan died. He honestly didn't really even expect to survive that long, but he had held hope because of the words written across his arm.

Really, he had guessed that he'd meet his soulmate during the Blight, considering that the words mention fighting side by side, but he had always figured that those were the last words he'd ever hear because he'd die himself. It was not a very happy thought, but he'd been too terrified to consider the alternative.

And when Zevran had started calling him 'my friend Alistair'… Well, he'd felt a mix of emotions; happiness over most likely finding his soulmate, annoyance that it was the assassin, then acceptance of that same fact, fear because it meant he could die at any moment, and so forth and so forth. But only in his darkest hours had he ever let himself wonder if it was Zevran who would never speak again, not him who could never hear.

Now, though… Now he's forced to consider that eventuality, and all he can feel is relief.

Alistair stands up, and his friend nods at him as she goes to talk to the rest of the group. He doesn't want her reassurances, no matter how much she may mean them; what he wants is to hear Zevran's voice. And he can never hear it again.

But, because it's better than nothing – so very much better – he goes to see his soulmate instead.

And there Zevran is, lying on the bed with Wynne crouched over him. When Alistair enters the tent, Wynne glances up and gives him a smile, exiting without a word.

Alistair kneels down next to Zevran. "Maker, that… You have no idea…" he tries to gather his thoughts, and finally he glances up at Zevran's face and lets the tears overflow. "I was so scared."

He doesn't know whether he means that moment when Zevran was stabbed, the coursing terror that imbedded itself in his chest, or the months he spent worrying when either one of them would die. Nevertheless, the statement holds true, and his tears only dry when Zevran reaches out a hand to brush them off.

Zevran smiles at him apologetically and lets his fingers caress down Alistair's face. Alistair cups Zevran's hand and holds it against his cheek.

"I am so glad," he tries to say, but his voice breaks so he takes a deep breath before continuing. "I am so glad you're alive." It comes out as a whisper, a prayer to the Maker, but he doesn't mind.

And neither does Zevran if his answering smile is any indication.

Alistair had been keeping his eyes determinedly on Zevran's face, but now he lets his gaze wander down to the medical gauze wrapped around Zevran's throat.

'Stable', Wynne had said, and Alistair's heart had almost stopped from the relief. 'But there is damage to his vocal chords that even I cannot heal.' Those weren't words that one would expect to create such joy, but all Alistair had managed to feel at that moment was deep, deep relief and happiness at the understanding that filled him.

Zevran wasn't lost to him; only his voice was.

Alistair drags his eyes back to Zevran's face, and sees that the other is watching him carefully.

He'd had a couple of hours to think before Wynne let anyone see Zevran, and he had come to a decision in that time. Well, he had actually made the decision in the first five minutes; it wasn't that difficult at all.

Because he had almost lost Zevran. That really drove it home; in their life, nothing was certain. They could lose one another the next day, or the next week, or the next month. And Alistair didn't want that moment of sadness to be overrun by regret as well as pain.

"Can I kiss you?" Alistair asks, because Zevran is so vulnerable lying there – something he tries to ignore as much as possible – and he doesn't feel right just doing what he wants.

But Zevran's smile widens and he pulls Alistair's face towards him, and Alistair figures that they're on the same page.

It's nothing more than a brush of lips, something Alistair always imagines his first kiss with his partner to be like. Zevran, though, is making puppy dog eyes at him, and Alistair laughs as he leans down to kiss him again, this time more deeply.

Maybe it's the knowledge that Zevran is his soulmate, but Alistair can't imagine ever letting him go.

Oh yeah, that reminds him.

"So," Alistair says as casually as possible while his heart is beating rapidly. "Turns out you and I are soulmates."

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked it, and I'd appreciate any and all feedback!
> 
> Also, that tattoo thing was inspired by a conversation that Zevran & Alistair have if you have both of them in your group. And that lamppost thing was from the conversation you can have with Alistair about his virginity, obviously.


End file.
